1. PURIFIED
And you’re there,
wearing a shirt littered with holes,
Air conditioning you called it.
Music plays—
John Lennon’s voice,
blended with the wind,
...above us, only sky.
That wind thrashes into your car’s
open windows.
I’m watching the grass
flash by in a lush green streak;
the engine gives a deep rumble.
2. FREEDOM
I imagine we’re on a runway
about to take off in flight.
I’m your co-pilot, the next man up.
I stick my arm out and grab hold of a
cloud, thick as cotton, then let it go. The car disappears
just us now, dancing midair. My hair
catches in a gust, swirls up like a chocolate
ice cream cone.
You are laughing.
Because you are
terrified.
I hold your hand—hard with calluses.
We turn up the stereo,
and it’s easy to do what he says,
living for today,
because all there is
is me and you.
Here we are, soaring up to meet the sun.
3. SUFFOCATION
I wore a pink cardigan to my father’s funeral.
Looked down at his waxen figure,
permanently asleep. There are no explanations.
He was a forest fire
& an ice bath,
my father.
My father fell beneath the
muddy waters of Lake Shasta.
He held my hand, not to
drag me under with him
to help him catch his breath.
My father fell beneath the water
but neither of us resurfaced.
Sure, I dragged my heavy corpse
from the scene.
Clawing my
way up jagged rocks, not minding
the blood left behind.
Then it was a downhill slide through
adolescence
into my uncle’s
swimming pool or my bathtub
where I tried to teach myself
to breathe in.
4. EXHALATION
It’s easier now
when—
for the second time—
you release your grip on my hand
to drift off to meet something
far beyond my understanding.
This time I can forgive you.
It isn’t hard to do.